


Last stand

by Kangoo



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Kael'thas dies at the Black Temple
Relationships: Illidan Stormrage/Kael'thas Sunstrider
Kudos: 8





	Last stand

**Author's Note:**

> posted on tumblr years ago and now slightly revised and posted here as well, woo!
> 
> what. kind of emotional turmoil was i going through when i wrote this.

Kael’thas has always fought at Illidan’s side. He’s been there through the sleepless nights, the demons attacks, the manic episodes. He remained loyal, always standing his ground, never faltering, giving orders when Illidan couldn’t, coaxing information out of him when he wouldn’t share, prefering to bite his tongue bloody than cry out when withdrawal proved too much to endure.

Things get increasingly more difficult, circumstances worsen to a point where failure isn’t a possibility as much as an inevitability. Their troops die. Half the sin’dorei defect to the Legion, half-mad and desperate from cursed hunger. Demon hunters train and fight and cling to their dwindling sanity with bloody, burned raw fingers. Still, Kael’thas stands at his side. Unwavering and faithful to the point of stupidity.

When Illidan makes what he expects to be his last stand on top of the Black Temple, he attempts — one last, hopeless time — to convince him to run.

“Your people need you.”

Kael’thas smiles and rubs the back of his knuckles against Illidan’s bare shoulder, easy in his affection even as the clamor of battle rises from the lower floors.

“You need me more.” He shrugs off his cape and shakes his head, hair falling loosely down his back. Illidan thinks that even covered in blood and grime he is beautiful. “And from what I’ve heard, Lor’themar is doing a stellar job at leading them in my stead. They will be fine. They always are.”

Felo’melorn alights in his grasp, embers flying around him. Steps sound up the stairs as Maiev and her posse climb the Black Temple, a clatter of armor and drawn weapons.

Fighting comes easy to them. They move around each other like dance partners, so familiar with the shape of their bodies they can see it behind their eyelids when they close their eyes. Kael’thas ducks under massive wings and twists around double-edged warglaives with a grin. Illidan flies through walls of fire and doesn’t bat an eye when flames roar a hair’s breadth from his face.

That’s why it comes as such a surprise when Illidan turns and doesn’t find Kael’thas at his side.

It throws him off his rhythm and he almost stumbles, whirling around as he frantically searches for his second in command.

The blood elf stands a mere few feet behind him, oddly still. He blinks in a sort of slow surprise and looks down, to the blade embed in his chest.

“What-” He blinks again. His brow furrows in incomprehension as he looks up. “Illidan?”

Illidan is moving before he can think about it. He banishes his warglaives with a thought, freeing his hands to catch Kael’thas as his legs give in from under him. The prince collapses in his arms. Felo’melorn clatters to the ground, light dimming then fading entirely as it lays forgotten. Kael’thas grips Illidan’s shoulder with one hand as the other claws at the blade in his stomach in growing panic. His fingers are already slick with blood. It gushes from the wound, warm and thick against Illidan’s skin.

“Illidan,” he gasps, voice shaking with pain and fear. “I- what do I do? It _hurts_ , Illidan-”

Illidan shushes him gently, his forehead resting against the crown of his head. There is no one close enough to heal Kael’thas — their troops are being decimated, the healers are too busy trying to survive the battle, it’d be a miracle if he could find one and fly to them in time — Kael’thas is _dying_ and there is nothing he can do—

Kael’thas takes a deep shuddering breath and his hand slides from Illidan’s shoulder to his face. It leaves a trail of hot sticky blood up his neck as it settles on his cheek, his thumb pressing against his cheekbone, just under the blindfold.

“Hey-” his voice is weak and raspy, yet he speaks as calmly as if it were only the two of them in their private quarters, him talking Illidan out of a nightmare. “Hush, love, it’s alright, it’s alright-”

He keeps talking, nonsensical words of comfort, even as his voice grows weaker, breaking on every other word. Until, finally, it becomes too much for him to speak, and he can only hum reassuringly as Illidan holds him.

And then he falls silent.

Illidan keeps babbling against his hair, an endless prayer of _Kael, Kael, Kael_ , begging for his lover’s voice. His wings curl around them, claws digging in Kael’thas’ shoulders the way he always reprimanded him for.

_Be careful with those,_ he chidded, quietly amused, _there is a time and place for such things_.

But he’s silent now, with no mocking reproach about Illidan’s clinginess or sentimentality.

Heavy steps fall behind him, armor hitting the ground in a rhythmic pattern.

_One, two, three, four, five_ — whoever walks toward him stops at his back and waits, but he doesn’t react. His wings fall limp to the ground, sprawling around him as he cradles Kael’thas to his chest, hiding his face in his golden hair.

When the blade comes — falling hard and sharp on his back, cutting right between his wings and through his spine — he welcomes it like a mercy.

Kael’thas has always fought at his side. Without him, he’s forgotten how to stand.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate ending:
> 
> Kael’thas takes a deep shuddering breath and his hand slides from Illidan’s shoulder to his face. It leaves a trail of hot sticky blood up his neck as it settles on his cheek, his thumb pressing against his cheekbone, just under the blindfold.
> 
> “Hey-” his voice is weak and raspy, yet he speaks as calmly as if it were only the two of them in their private quarters, him talking Illidan out of a nightmare. “Not to invalidate your feelings or anything but- could you please stop crying and take it out? I can heal it just fine I just- can’t get a grip on the fucking thing.”
> 
> “Let me have my moment!”
> 
> “Babe. Please. I’m literally dying.”
> 
> “ _Fine_.”
> 
> (for more bullshit, come haunt me on [tumblr](https://youngster-monster.tumblr.com/))


End file.
